


Pulling a Louie

by mandaree1



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Card Games, Con Artist Louie, Crying, Emotionally constipated Scrooge, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Knitting, Louie talking to his money, Magic Potions, PlansTM, Soda Spray, Sprained Ankles, Theft, Troublemaker Lena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: After Louie gets hurt in an attempt to nab more cash, Scrooge forces him to shadow him at work, and the two begin to realize they're a lot more alike then they might prefer.





	1. Chapter 1

"Louie!" Scrooge whispered-yelled, waving his cane as if to hook it in the duckling's hoodie and drag him back to his side. "Get back here at once! The whole place could go down!"

Louie wasn't one for heights. But he was even less one for letting good money go down the drain, and he knew, as well as the other kids knew, that his great-uncle would never let him edge this far on a tiny little rock ledge towards a solid gold ball if he wasn't sure he would be safe. Or maybe Scrooge had a fear of heights too. He'd rather not consider that little theory. "Are you kiddin'?" He pointed at his quarry. "Do you  _know_  how many zeroes is on that dohickey?"

"Do ya' know how many _broken bones_  that fall'll give ya'?"

Louie waved him off, then almost regretted it when he pitched forward. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I can't hear you over the  _cha-ching_!"

"I'll _cha-ching_  your head!" Huey hissed, shaking his fist at the boy. " _Louis Quackmore Duck if you know what's good for you you'll carefully maneuver your stupid little webbed feet back over here_!"

"Wow, Hue," Dewey said, eyebrows raised. "Didja sleep okay last night? 'Cause you sound cranky."

"Our little brother is scaling a ledge for a  _yellow soccerball_ , Dew. Of course I'm cranky!"

Louie stuck his tongue out at him, wiggling his fingers, thumb to his nose. "You'll thank me for this when we're rolling in dough."

It was Dewey's turn to try; though, deep down, the boy really wanted to join his brother on the ledge. The only reason he refrained was because he wasn't sure it would be able to hold both their weights. "Come'on, dude. Even Webby agreed we shouldn't go over there."

Webby wrinkled her nose. "I  _said_  we shouldn't do it without proper equipment."

"Which he isn't."

"Right. But when has  _Louie_  ever listened to rules before?"

Louie sent her finger guns, almost completely across. "Glad to see you're picking up what I'm laying down, Webs."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment." She went to move forward and follow him, relying on her skills to see her back again, preferably with a handful of his hoodie, but Scrooge put a hand on her shoulder. Webby froze almost instantly, unwilling to provoke his ire during such a high stakes moment.

The old duck fumed as his youngest great-nephew let out a tiny laugh, finally stepping out onto the small rock circle that held the golden ball's pedestal. "When I said I wanted him to be more adventurous," he muttered to himself. "I didnae mean this."

Louie let out a triumphant cackle as he took the golden ball from its pedestal, giving it a quick wipe-down with his hoodie sleeve to clear it of dust. He waggled his eyebrows at the reflection, smile wide enough to hurt. "Well, well, beautiful. You and I have a date with destiny. No worries. I'm open to an open relationship."

Before he could turn around and start back, the pedestal sunk down into the pillar. An unwelcome crumbling sound shook the floor under his feet. Louie squinted at his feet, then the ceiling, a frown settling onto his features. "What is this? A tasteless Indiana Jones parody? Hasn't the world had enough of those things?"

"Louie!" Scrooge called, for the umpteenth time.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming-"

One louder, more scraping sound echoed through the chamber, and a large boulder tipped out of a hole in the ceiling, taking the ledge- and Louie- with it.

* * *

"What do you mean _it got crushed_?" Louie wailed as the doctor stuck a band-aid on his arm. "That ball was the love of my life!"

Scrooge jabbed him in the belly with his cane. "It was almost the  _end_  of yer life, lad!"

"Sir," the doctor said, sounding very bored with the whole thing. "Please don't do that."

The boy threw up his hands. "Not even close! I had cartoon physics on my side!" His lip trembled dramatically. "But what about my darling? Oh, why must the beautiful be smashed to smithereens?"

"Because there's a wee little thing called karma," the old duck replied. "I think that twisted ankle proves that."

Louie's face soured a bit at that, but he didn't seem all that perturbed. "So I gotta walk with a cane for a bit. So what? People will think I'm copying you, and adults think kids who bow to their whims are cute."

Scrooge opened his mouth to argue, but before he could the hospital door opened and the other children came running inside. Huey and Dewey tackled their brother in a hug, then Webby, who knocked the tackle-hug-pile over. Louie let out a little 'oomph!'

"Sirs and madam," the doctor repeated, sounding no more enthused than he had prior. "Please get off the patient."

" _Dude_." Dewey slapped his arm. "It's  _my_  job to go careening off things. Not your's."

"Believe me, Dewford, you can keep it. There is no competition from me."

Huey huffed and jabbed him in the side. "Honestly, Louie, I expect better from you. You're usually smarter than this."

Louie shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Eh, what can I say? The bank of Louie was running low."

"Mr. Duck is gonna kill you for almost dying," Webby told him, then pursed her lips. "Actually, that's hypocritical. He's probably gonna ground you, though."

"I might just kill 'im anyway." Scrooge set his hands on his hips, hoping that he came across as someone not to cross. "Laddie, if yer that worried about yer money, why not get a paper route?"

Louie raised a single eyebrow. "Because my poor, fallen darling of a cash machine would pay me more in one somewhat dangerous stunt than an entire lifetime of chucking newspapers ever would? Also, I have terrible aim."

"But mostly because you hate work," Dewey added, giving him a look.

"I mean, you're not wrong. I just wanted to sound more reasonable."

Scrooge felt tempted to rip his whiskers out. He could respect, in a distant sort of way, the duckling's unwillingness to want to work at his age, but he didn't understand how it all added up in the boy's head. A job was hard work, true, but hard work surely trumped dying, didn't it? Louie had always been fairly cautious about the risks he took on adventures. Not as much as Huey, but the older duck's money was always on Dewey.  _Dewey_  was always the one trying to get himself killed. It's why he didn't notice Louie until it was too late.

He took in a deep breath and put a stranglehold on his cane. Fine, then. He was an adult. He could work with this. "If ya' don't realize why this is such a big deal," he sighed. "I guess I'll just have to teach ya'."

Louie stiffened, eyes wide. "I think I'd rather have the grounding, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, ye'll get that too." He tapped him on the head with the very tip of his cane. "Startin' tomorrow, yer gonna be at my hip until that bandage comes off. Maybe I'll teach ya' more about work ethics while I'm at it."

" _Sir,_ " the doctor warned, as Louie dropped his head onto the pillow and groaned. "Does anyone around here know how to properly treat a hurt individual, or do I need to kick all of you out?"

"It might be best if you did, yeah," Dewey said, nodding to himself. "Also, if you would be so kind as to point us to the cafeteria, that'd be great."


	2. Chapter 2

Louie's normal demeanor wasn't quite as effective with the huge, bright blue bandage wrapped around his leg, but the boy felt the cane more than made up for it. Was it a tiny cane? Yes, yes it was. Was is as cool as a big cane? Even cooler.

"Eyyyyy, Melody." Louie gave the receptionist a quick thumbs up as he past. "You're killing it with that blouse today, girl. Blue is  _definitely_  your color."

She chuckled and waved him off. "What a charmer."

Scrooge seemed to get a hairball caught in his throat, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and yanking him towards the elevator with a disgusted scoff. " _Must_  you do that?" he demanded.

"Give out nice compliments?" Louie's smirk oozed  _smug_ , like cat about to get a spoonful of milk. "Why yes, yes I must."

They got into the elevator, the youngest duckling hobbling. The old duck pushed the button. "But you don't  _mean_  those compliments," he stressed. "I mean, Melody's color is  _clearly_  cerise red."

Louie let out a little chuckle, as if the concept amused him. "Look, Scrooge, you're way too old for me to have to be telling you this stuff, but PR is a  _big_  deal, even when you're rich. If people think you're nice and trustworthy, they're more likely to shuck out cash for you. If they think you're, say, a really cranky old man with a cheesy accent,  _welllllllll_..."

"Are yew seriously givin' me tips on manipulating people?" he asked flatly.

He made a clicking noise with his tongue, pretending to fire off his finger gun. "You'll thank me for it someday."

"We have a lot of work to do," Scrooge replied solemnly.

Scrooge's office seemed like a waste of space to Louie. Big desk, big tubes, big empty space- and for what? It gets in the way of the money vault. Today, the perfect slice of heaven was closed and locked, and Louie didn't think he was strong enough to open it, injured or not. Scrooge had one of the workers bring him a spare chair, setting it up smack dab next to the desk. Louie flops into the chair, leaning his cane against the side and his chin on his hand. "Whelp, I'm here. You got me into your evil lair of work. Whoop-de-doo."

The old duck slid into his own chair. It was a much nicer chair. "While yer with me, laddie, yer gonna learn one lesson per day. That is the key to properly utilizing your punishment time."

"Grand," Louie said, yawning. "So, what's the lesson today?"

Scrooge reached out to flick his elbow. "No sleeping on the job," he recited wryly.

"I'm not  _on_  the job. Technically speaking, I'm  _in_  the job. I'm here, but I'm not a worker. Ergo, in, but not on."

"I change my mind. Yer lesson fer the day is not to twist words to yer advantage."

Louie blew a raspberry. " _Please_. Like you haven't done it."

" _I_  do it to defeat me enemies." He lifted a finger. " _Not_  to get out of me responsibilities."

"I mean, you  _did_  pretend we didn't exist for ten years," Louie said. " _Soooooo_..."

Scrooge slammed his cane on the floor. "Do  _not_  backtalk me!"

"Why not? I'm already grounded. Might as well take advantage of the death penalty." Louie slid down in his chair and crossed his arms. His knee was beginning to itch. "So, what stupendous adventure are you taking them on while I'm out of commission to spite me? Wait, wait, let me guess- a city made of gold? A  _volcano_  made of gold?"

"Nowhere." Scrooge opened his newspaper. "We're stayin' home."

"What?" He sat up. "Dude, what the duck?"

"We're waitin' until you get better," he answered firmly. "Won't take long, given yer good genes."

Louie narrowed his eyes. " _I_  see how it is. You're trying to turn my siblings against me."

"Are ya' daft, Louie?"

"Punishing the whole family for my mistake? You're not subtle, Scroogey. Well, it won't work. Not on Huey and Dewey. I'm...  _not_  entirely sure about Webby. She's really passionate about her adventures."

Scrooge lowered the newspaper and squinted one eye at him. "D'ya think everything in life is a con, lad, or am I makin' ya' extra paranoid?"

"Both," he answered bluntly. "Life is the  _ultimate_  con. Also, you've got cheat codes. Nobody likes a cheater  _except_  the cheater, just so you know."

"Cheating? How am  _I_  cheating?"

"You're rich, dude. You can do basically anything and get away with it. That's how being rich  _works_."

"Poppycock!"

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"My mother is dead, Louie."

Louie's mouth screwed up, the bluntness of the statement surprising him. "I've suddenly noticed a spot on the wall that I find  _very_  interesting."

"Good lad," Scrooge rumbled, going back to the paper.

* * *

"So, how was the first day in the brig?" Huey asked, watching with a raised eyebrow as Louie stuck a pencil under the bandage around his leg.

"Horrible," he griped, trying to get at the itch that had been haunting him since before lunch. "I'm pretty sure Uncle Scrooge hates me."

"He doesn't  _hate_  you."

"He really doesn't," Dewey agreed. "He'd tell you if he did."

Louie twitched miserably, rolling his eyes. "Then he definitely  _dislikes_  me, then."

"Now,  _that_  I wouldn't put past him."

The youngest triplet let out a sigh. "Honestly, why is he so determined to teach me, or whatever? I'm kinda mourning a loss to my bank account here."

"Aw, Louie." Huey ruffled his feathers. "It's his way of showing he cares."

"Then he can buzz off."

None of the triplets heard Webby approaching until she was at the open door, lightly rapping on it with her knuckles. "What're we talkin' about?"

Louie tilted his head back. "Scrooge's passive-aggressive attitude towards me."

"Oh," she said. "I think that's just how he shows affection? Maybe? I dunno."

He let out a long, _loud_  sigh of defeat as Webby took a running start for the bed, hopping up with a excited laugh. Dewey shifted over so she had more room to get comfy, but Webby looked content at the very edge, hands on her lap. She smacked her lips, tasting toothpaste. "If it's so bad, I can go see Lena," she suggested. "She's always got some weird remedy on hand. They work, too. Remember when Huey had the sniffles?"

"I haven't had a runny nose since," Huey commented, rubbing his chin. "Though I  _do_  seem to have gained an allergy to saltines."

Louie glanced at her, considering. "I  _also_  recall Huey being high as a kite for a good hour afterwards."

Webby shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not a  _real_  cure if it doesn't do something weird. That's what she always says."

"Doesn't Lena, like...  _disappear_  after it gets dark?" Dewey broke in. "'Cause there's no way you'll get to her in time otherwise."

"Crap, you're right. Guess that's a no-go."

Webby patted his arm comfortingly. "If it helps, I'll see if she can whip you up something anyway."

"Where  _does_  she get those recipes from?" Huey asked.

"I have  _no_  idea. I asked her once, and all she would say was that she was magic. Like. Thanks for the help, Lena."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, irony. Also, I have a lot of fun writing Louie and Scrooge trying to out-sarcasm each other.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Anxiety Attacks

Louie should've known something was amiss when Scrooge led him with a hand on his back. That's not Scrooge's style. Never has been. He's not a touchy-feely guy.

It's partially his fault. Louie always finds some sort of error on his end when these things happen. Today, it's that he was too tired to think up any compliments. He should've said something about Melody's shoes. He'd thought they were really pretty, but was too sleepy from Scrooge's self-imposed alarm that he didn't say anything. He could've hammed it up, too- nudged Scrooge and forced him to agree, smile way too wide, maybe share a look of exasperation with the receptionist after Scrooge inevitably stomped off. Had he done that, Scrooge would've made him sit in his office, saving him from what was to come. A perfect plan.

He got sloppy. That's all on him.

What's  _not_  on him is Scrooge not telling him. Not giving him a warning. Maybe he thought it'd be a fun surprise. Maybe he just didn't care. Whatever. It takes two to tango, and Scrooge is the lead in this dance. He can't hold himself accountable for the old duck not explaining what they were doing that day.

Instead, he led Louie to a random door in a random hallway, shoving it open with gusto, and a room full of eyes swivel to look at him. Louie swallows, caught off guard. Scrooge's grip is tight, as if he expects him to run off in his current state. If it weren't for his leg, he might just.

"Gentlemen," Scrooge greeted, sounding fairly chipper. "Jus' brought my nephew with me fer the day. Thought it might help him learn about business."

Louie felt like he was drowning. He pressed his chin to his chest and edged behind him. He didn't do surprises well. He didn't do crowds very well. He  _certainly_  didn't know how to handle surprise crowds.

( _Think of a way out, dummy,_  his mind sing-songs, but Scrooge wouldn't let him. Scrooge thinks this is a bright idea. Scrooge doesn't _know_.)

Scrooge helped him into his seat, none the wiser to his youngest great-nephew's plight, and started the meeting. Louie's head was swimming. He pressed a hand against the side of his face, shielding it from the room. Now would be a good time to make a plan, maybe air out the tension a bit, but the initial surprise has made it impossible for him to think.

Louie focused on breathing, and  _not_  resenting Scrooge. How could he know? It wasn't like he advertised having stage fright. Huey and Dewey took up the slack- letting him flip the slides on school projects, always answering the teachers' questions when he gets picked, always making sure to help him plan. Planning stopped this type of thing from happening. But what kid had a plan to cope with a huge board meeting?

Louie drained the cup of water in front of him, but still felt thirsty. He didn't feel brave enough to stand up and refill it.

It's a blessing when the lights go out for a presentation. A pure, utter blessing. It also gives Louie a  _plan_ , and plans are what he needs right now. It's not a foolproof plan, but he's not Huey, so no plan of his is going to  _be_  foolproof. Scrooge is enthralled in the powerpoint playing, or maybe he's just really good at pretending to be interested. He didn't seem to notice Louie reaching for his cane.

The next part is a waiting game. It felt like forever, but it might've been ten minutes when one of the vultures excused himself to use the restroom. Louie ducked out of his chair and followed as quietly as possible. No one turned when the door opened; everyone assumed he had gone alone.

Louie slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. His heart jumped like he had just run a race.

It's been a while since he'd done this. Deep down, Louie felt a bit ashamed of himself. Not for running- he's a fast runner, so it's not an unwise tactic- but for panicking. He'd thought (hoped?) he was past this by now.

He forced himself to hobble down the hallway. He didn't really feel like he should move much quite yet, but standing right outside the door wouldn't be very smart of him. It wouldn't be long before Scrooge noticed his absence. No powerpoint was  _that_  amazing. Best to get some distance while he still could. Louie considered just going to Scrooge's office, but that would be the first place he looked, and he needs some alone time.

Bathroom it is, then.

The vulture is long gone by the time he found his way inside, leaning against the wall. He swallowed hard, then slipped into one of the stalls, pressing his fists against his eyes. He doesn't sit down. Sitting down always made him feel worse. He needed to pace. A bathroom stall is a crappy place to pace. His stomach flip-flops, responding to his accelerated heart-rate.

It's more than just the surprise. It's a lot of things. Moving, adventures, getting hurt- life has been full of fast-paced changes lately, and that weighs in on him more than he wants to admit. It's stupid. He's not Huey, who needed rules and strict parameters. In a lot of ways, he's the exact opposite. He's a conman. Conning is all about drifting on the surface and paddling like hell underneath. He's a duck- it's what he does.

Some tears leak out, and honestly there's nothing more humiliating than crying in a bathroom. He cried, and he cried, and he cried some more, a hand over his beak in case someone came in. Louie wished he'd thought to bring some headphones. Sometimes, music helped.

( _This is what you get for not having a backup plan_ , he told himself.  _You got desperate. You got hurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ )

Louie eventually got out of the stall, washing and wiping his face over and over until the redness was mostly gone. Now he just looked tired. He  _was_  tired. Drained. He really shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. He probably wouldn't have, if Scrooge hadn't been so gung-ho about having a shadow.

He edged out of the bathroom, taking a quick second to glance behind him. The whole place was a dead zone. Louie felt a bit relieved, though he didn't know why. The chances he'd meet any of the people who worked in the bin outside of here was practically null. Still. He'd hate to get rich one day, only for Melody from the front desk to go on TV and talk about the time she heard him bawling like a hatchling in the bathroom.

* * *

"Louie!" Scrooge called out, relieved, after finding the boy sitting against a random wall. "Where've you been, lad?"

"Bathroom break," he grunted tersely. "What  _was_  that?"

"What was what?" he asked, baffled.

Louie looked at him, offended. "You just sprung that on me! How is  _that_  fair?"

"It was a meetin', lad. Not the apocalypse."

"Everyone was staring at me!"

Scrooge raised an eyebrow, but seemed to recognize he'd done something wrong, sitting down next to him. "I thought ye thrived in crowds. They're like pigs at the slaughter fer yer charms."

"I don't like crowds. I especially don't like it when they get the jump on me like that," he huffed. Louie lifted his arms up a bit. "I need to, like, prepare myself, I guess? Think up some talking points. Practice my lines in my head."

"Yew practice?"

"You didn't think my smooth perfection was first try, did you? I mean, I  _wish_."

"What about that charlatan up at Mount Neverrest? Ye didnae have a lotta time fer that."

Louie let out a low, bitter chuckle. "Okay, one, charlatan is a super old word, who even uses it anymore? And that was different."

"Different?"

"I was mad."

"Ah."

"Look, I know I'm not the most morally upstanding fellow, but tricking Launchpad is like tricking a little kid. And that's fine for, like, candy or bets or something, but money? That's just cruel. Especially since he was about to climb one of the scariest mountains in the world. You don't trick a guy about to climb a flipping mountain is what I'm getting at. Because if they survive and make it down, they're gonna be out for revenge, and someone who just survived  _going up a mountain_  isn't somebody you wanna mess with."

"Fellow ain't exactly a newfangled word either." Scrooge lightly elbowed his side. "And I dunno, wee barra. Seems like ya' got a decent head on yer shoulders ta' me."

"So you think I'm trustworthy?" He rubbed his chin deviously. " _Noted_."

"I never said trustworthy. Havin' a good head on yer shoulders doesn't mean ya'  _use it_  very often." Scrooge stood and held out a hand. "Now, gettup. I gotta surprise fer yew."

"I think I've had enough surprises for today."

"It's a good'un, I promise." His smile faltered a second. Something in his eyes screamed 'let's start today over again.'

"Ugh, fine." Louie steeled himself as the old duck helped him up, grabbing his cane. "But if it sucks, I'm calling my lawyers."

This is the second time in one day that Scrooge has led him with a hand on his back, but this time doesn't have any sense of impending doom behind it. If Louie didn't know better, he'd think it was almost a loving gesture. They reach his office without any resistance or elevator-related shenanigans, for which Louie is grateful. Scrooge put a hand on the doorknob and smiled back at the boy. "Thought we'd work on building those muscles up early."

He winked and swung it open.

Louie let out a gasp as he took in the sight of a bright pink and yellow kiddie pool, filled halfway full of silver change. He's not ashamed of the excited little noise that left his mouth as he waddled over, wishing he could sprint. The boy crawled in without preamble, sitting on top of the money with a deep sigh. "Oooh, I love you, Uncle Scrooge."

"Thank ya' kindly, Louie," Scrooge said dryly, shutting the door behind him. "Yer not keeping any of it, jus' so you know."

"Oh, don't worry," Louie replied. "I'm no homewrecker, especially with such a committed relationship."

"Well, since I'm being nice, I'll let ya' keep the pennies."

"Don't front with me, old man. There's no pennies in this."

"How do you know that?"

"One, you'd never give me money." He held up fingers. "And two, I just can. I've got a way with the hard cash, I tells ya'."

"Hmmm." Scrooge's cane clicks on the hard floor as he approaches. "Hold out yer hand and close yer eyes."

" _Okay_."

The tinkling of money ringed temptingly in his ears as some coins were drizzled into his hand like rain. "Can ya' tell me what these all are?" he prompted.

Louie didn't even have to think about it. "Five quarters, ten dimes, and two nickels."

"How can ya' tell?" Scrooge sounded surprised.

"I know the sounds they make." He opened his eyes with a shrug, letting them slip back into the pile. "What can I say? I studied hard."

"Louie," he started reproachfully.

Louie groaned. "I know that tone. That's the tone parents take when they over-analyze the things I say."

"I was just goin' to point out that if you put that much work into  _other_  things, ya' could be very successful in life."

"Ugh,  _this_  sermon again." He kicked out his good foot, wincing at the metal bouncing off his tender webbing. "Honestly, you're, like, ten years late for this one, Scrooge. Everyone and their mother has tried. So your lesson for today is pretty bunk."

Scrooge seemed to accept that, going back to his desk with a grumble. He sat down, rolled the chair up, and put his face in his hands. "There's gotta be sumthin' we got in common," he muttered to himself. " _Besides_  money."

Louie half-rolled onto his injured side. "You seem like a gambling man, Scroogey. That's something I can respect."

The old duck perked up a little. "Ye like cards, laddie?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "Dude, I'm the god of all card games."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sticks a random Scottish term I found online into Scrooge's vocabulary- ah yes, this is how to properly AccentTM. (In all seriousness, though, I'm always up to suggestions and corrections!)
> 
> -Mandaree1


	4. Chapter 4

"If yew don't wipe that look off yer face, I'm writin' ya' outta the will."

Louie's eyes widened, the sardonic smile on his bill stretching ever-so-much wider. "There's a will? And I'm in it?"

Scrooge scoffed. "Jus' shuffle the cards, lad."

The boy leaned back in his metal chair. Always one for the theatrics, Louie pulled out every trick he could think of, flipping them up and around and upside down, practically juggling them. Scrooge took it as a challenge, narrowing his eyes in order to intimidate the duckling. Finally, and with many obnoxious noises, Louie slapped the deck on the table.

"You wanna hand them out?" he asked innocently. The little brat.

"I'm gonna wipe the floor with yew," Scrooge decided.

"Noted, but that's not an answer."

The old duck snatched them up with a pschaw. He handed out the standard five each, then gently set the rest of the deck in the very center. Scrooge picked up and studied his hand, face blank. Louie did the same.

"You know," Louie prompted. "This really isn't as much fun as it would be with chips."

Scrooge didn't look up. "How so?"

"Well, the whole point of poker is playing chicken. No bets, no point. We might as well be playing go fish."

He vaguely waved a hand. "Table is open. Place a bet."

"I don't have money, Scrooge." He picked up his cane in order to tap the bandage on his leg. "That's why I got this, you'll recall."

"Ye sure it wasn't a far-fetched scheme to spend time with me?"

"The mere notion is laughable."

Scrooge finally looked up. "Ye wanna make it more interesting, eh?"

"Of course I do. I happen to be quite the betting duck, if you hadn't noticed." Louie dug around in his pockets, tongue lightly peeking out. He eventually yanked out his phone, setting it on the table face-down. "Try me, old man."

His eyebrows lifted high on his head, surprised. Louie was fond of that phone. _Very_  fond of it.

Scrooge kept direct eye contact as he slowly pulled his number one dime out of his frock coat, setting the necklace on the table with a quiet little thunk. Louie's eyes grew impossibly wide.

"Oh no," he said. "I'm screwed."

"Where'd all that confidence go?"

"It retreated when it realized you had a hand so good you willingly brought your best treasure into this."

"Ye never know, laddie." He winked at him. "Might jus' be callin' yer bluff."

"I fold." Louie tossed his cards at the table. "Take it. Take my house. Take my dignity. Take the love of my life. Heck, take my hoodie while you're at it. I know a power move when I see it."

Scrooge cackled lowly as he took the cell phone and slid it into his pocket, retrieving his dime and slipping it back on, patting his chest as if to reassure himself it hadn't disappeared. "And that's yer lesson fer the day."

"Everything I care about will inevitably be ripped from me by an old man with a grudge?"

"Don't bet anything yer not willin' to lose."

Louie let out a long sigh. "Okay, fine, whatever. Point made. But you better take good care of Cellie, okay? She needs a wipedown  _at least_  twice a day, and it'll be best for both of us if you delete the internet history. There are some things best left to the imagination."

"I'm not keeping yer phone, Louie," Scrooge scoffed. "Ye can have it back at the end of the day."

"Oh thank duck," he exclaimed. "I'd hug you if it didn't require hobbling around this ugly table."

"It's not a very pretty table, no." He patted the cheap plastic thing he'd brought specifically for the occasion.

"Best two out of three?"

"Ye don't got anything left to bet."

"That's not true. I've got my cane and I've got my soul. Both are up for grabs."

"And if ye win?"

Louie tapped his chin. "Welllllll, you  _could_  give me a day off from this nightmare of work and stress."

Scrooge held out a hand, which he shook. "Deal."

They both jumped when the staticky intercom flared to life. "Mr. McDuck? There's a potential business partner on line three."

The old duck looked at the phone, tempted, then his great-nephew, who was smiling like he'd been told a great joke. "Ye know what? They can wait. I need to teach this boy a thing or two first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and silly, but plenty of fun! I do intend to make some chapters where Louie learns Scrooge a few things too, promise. This is supposed to be a two-way process, after all.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't believe you actually managed to beat Uncle Scrooge in a game of cards," Huey marveled as he helped Louie get comfortable on the harsh rock of the amphitheater. "He's, like, an old pro, isn't he?"

"You doubt my talents, Hubert?"

"You cheated, didn't you?"

"I  _absolutely_  cheated."

"Go Louie!" Dewey cheered, pumping an enthusiastic fist. "Fight the power!"

Webby slapped his arm. "Don't encourage him! That's what got him that bad ankle in the first place!"

"This is true," Louie agreed. "But, you have to admit, I look pretty good in blue, don't I?"

Dewey hissed at him comically. " _My_  precious. Only I can wear blue full-time."

"Aha!" A voice cheered, and Lena crawled over the haphazard rubble with a round beaker filled to the brim with a bubbling green liquid, a cork stuffed into the top. "I  _knew_  I stashed it nearby."

"I already regret everything," Louie whispered, staring at it like it was cursed.

"Aw, hush, you big baby." She swished it around, a pinkie finger stuck up politely. "This doesn't even taste bad.  _And_  it'll help you heal that much faster."

Huey squinted at the substance. "Why is it bubbling?"

"Why not?"

"I have no counterargument for that."

Webby was enthralled. "How didja get it to  _do_  that?"

Lena smiled sardonically, eyes sparkling with mischief. "How many times do I gotta tell ya, Anglibeth? I'm  _magic_."

"That joke is getting really old, Lena."

"That's the plan."

She popped the cork off, and almost immediately the scent wrapped around all five of them, indescribable save for the smallest hint of barbecue chips. Louie's apprehension only grew. "How many blood sacrifices didja need to make that, exactly?"

"Just me." Lena held up a hand, showing off a cut. "Dude, you should see your face right now.  _Chill_. I was just kidding. I fell on some gravel."

"I change my mind. I should have never agreed to this."

The teenager let out a long groan. "Fine,  _fine_. If I show you it's safe, will you drink it?"

Louie hesitantly nodded.

Lena popped the cork off and chugged half of it without pause. Her cheeks bulged out after the last swallow. She held up a finger, pointed her head to the ocean, and released a blast of fire from her lips.

"What the duck!?" Huey yelped.

"I want some!" Webby cried, shaking with excitement.

Lena belched out some smoke, thumping her chest for good measure. "See? Perfectly safe. Burns the crud right outta ya'." She shoved what was left into his hands, which had begun to shake. "Here. Bottoms up."

Louie looked to his siblings for help, but found none. Huey was staring at Lena with awe, trying to figure out how she'd done such a trick. Webby watched him like a hawk, ready for a second performance. Dewey had begun to chant. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

"O'boy," he mumbled, overwhelmed, before bringing it to his lips. It poured as easily as milk, but left a film like honey, coating his mouth and throat. Louie tapped the bottom of the beaker, desperate to get it over with, but quickly realized he couldn't handle anymore and slumped onto his back, burping flames into the air. He held his stomach and panted. "That was the worst decision I've ever made in my life."

"Hmm..." Lena crouched next to him, picking up the remedy. "Still a little left," she mused to herself. The teenager bent over him to pluck a feather from his head, then stood.

"Ow!" he cried. "Why am _I_  always the one people pull feathers off of?"

"Whatcha doing, Lena?" Webby asked.

"Reading his thoughts," Lena responded dryly, carefully dropping the feather inside. She gave it a good shake; the liquid quickly became an odd shade of purple, which she then sipped from. An odd look crossed her face. "Oooh, someone's planning  _trouble_."

"He's  _always_  planning trouble," Huey laughed. "I'm still not completely sure if his sprained ankle was part of some big plan to get time off from adventures."

"It wasn't," he reassured him, still flat on his back. "This better work, Lena, or I may just have to yank out a handful of  _your_  feathers."

"Try me, Duck." She leaned on an upturned rock. "Trust me, it will. Sleep well tonight, wake up tomorrow feeling basically good as new. You would've been _completely_  fine if you'd taken the whole dose, but noooooo."

Louie bit his tongue. He didn't know how seriously to take her claims. Lena's remedies, no matter how secret, had been some of the best they'd ever taken so far, but a sprained ankle is a sprained ankle. He wasn't supposed to be able to use his full weight on it for  _weeks_. Hence the cane. Could some fire juice really fix that?

(Deep down, part of him was disappointed that his time had been halved. As much as he hated work, he'd enjoyed pestering Scrooge. But that didn't mean Scrooge wouldn't be pleased to be rid of him; he still wasn't even sure if the trillionaire _liked_  him or not.)

Lena looked at him. It was a knowing look. Louie felt exposed.

"I'm up for trouble," she said, and left it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heck yes I'm posting two chapters in a single day. I do what I want, yo. =) (Also, I just really like writing Lena)
> 
> Also? Is that? An actual plotline I see appearing over the horizon? And foreshadowing? Curiouser and curiouser.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	6. Chapter 6

Louie woke up feeling a lot better, just as Lena had promised. He also woke up to a cane jabbing him in the belly.

"Up and at 'em, lad," Scrooge said, ever so cheerfully. "S'time to go."

He glanced at the clock, squinting, and rubbed at the spot he had been poked. "You wound me, good sir. It's not nearly time to go to the evil place you crusty old men call work."

"We're takin' the bus."

"Have you gone mad?"

"Nah. Launchpad busted the car up too much to drive us."

"You're literally rich, Scrooge. You don't have to  _bus_  to your job."

Scrooge shrugged. "S'been a while since I bused. Could be a good experience."

"It's a bus," he reiterated, sliding off the bed.

He didn't expect the old man to grab his shoulder and push him back up, and startled as he did so. "Lad! Yer cane!"

"Oh, right." Louie tested his ankle. It still hurt, and still needed time, but he didn't feel nearly as bad as he had. "I'm feeling good today, I guess." He didn't think even Scrooge, adventurous as he was, would agree with him taking a weird medicine from an equally weird acquaintance, so he decided against letting such information slip.

Scrooge handed him his cane with a scowl. "Best not to test fate."

* * *

"I think we may have tested fate," Scrooge admitted, after an elbow got crammed into his belly yet again.

Louie pressed closer to his leg and focused on breathing. Having an attack at the money bin was fine. Having an attack here? Ruinous. There's no coming back from that. "No kidding?" he asked, voice tart.

It's a busy day on the bus. There had been no seats left, forcing the duo to stand. Louie held onto Scrooge's coat to avoid falling over, while Scrooge held onto the pole above them. Kids milled about with bags and lunchboxes. People in fast food uniforms chatted amicably with each other, while still others pushed through the crowd with gruff hands and voices. All in all, it's not anything Louie hadn't faced before, when Uncle Donald had job interviews before school, but he usually had Huey and Dewey to keep him company and help him from feeling too claustrophobic.

"Steady, laddie," Scrooge said suddenly, and the edge of his jacket was pulled around Louie like a protective wall. "We're almost there."

Louie curled his fingers into the fabric and counted the dollar signs the old thing probably had attached to its price tag, trying to take a stab at the inflation. It was probably worth more than Uncle Donald had ever made in his life. A residual, bitter part of him wanted to poke a hole in it, as if that would somehow reinstate the duck's lost pride. It's a plan, but it's not a very smart plan, even for Louie, so he doesn't go through with it.

They get off the bus and into the elevator without any real problems, Louie making sure to tell Melody he  _loved_  her new earrings on the way. Scrooge rolled his eyes, but didn't seem as off-put with it as he had been before.

"Thought we'd work on them muscles of yer's again," Scrooge said conversationally as the doors closed. They both pretend the bus- and subsequent bonding moment- never existed. "And yew can tell me all about how yew hear the money, or whatever."

Louie crossed his arms, leaning on the wall to give his ankle a break. It's already pretty sore from the jostling. "This is going to end with one of those talks about how I'm wasting my potential, isn't it? Because I'll have you know that I  _do_  have other hobbies than money and TV."

"I had nothin' of the sort planned." Scrooge held up a hand to show his honesty, fingers crossed. "Though, I must admit, I  _am_  a bit curious about these other hobbies of yer's."

"I also have a thing for selfies," he replied quickly.

"Nice try, but ya' didn't mean yer phone. That's included with the TV."

"I now regret everything."

"Are yew blushing?"

"Shut up. The void is the only family I have now."

"Well, the void would like answers, if yew don't mind divulging."

Louie let out a sigh, burying the tip of his beak into his hoodie. "You're gonna think it's dumb."

"I think most everything is dumb. It's part of bein' an old man in a new worl'." He nudged the boy's side. "Tell ya' what. It'll be between yew, me, and the elevator."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Fine, fine. I like..." he mumbled the rest.

"Speak up, laddie, the elevator is deaf."

"I like knitting, okay!?" Louie flailed his arms. "It's fun and I can do it while watching TV and the result is soft and I can wear it whenever I want and-"

"Okay, settle." Scrooge put a hand on his shoulder. "Why would ya' think I find that dumb? Knitting is a great life skill."

"People say it's girly."

"So what? If yew wanna be girly, that's fine. Prance around in a skirt, fer all I care. I'm sure Webbigail has some to spare."

Louie glanced at him. "You're not gonna tell Huey and Dewey, are you? They'll make fun of me."

"I highly doubt that."

"You made me an elevator promise, Uncle Scrooge."

"Aye, and I keep me elevator promises." He pointed at the rising numbers. "But the elevator of secrets is almost at an end."

"Oh," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Right."

The doors slid open with a ding. Scrooge gave him one final nudge, talking over his shoulder as he went. "Ye' oughta bring yer needles next time. I'd like to see ya' actually work fer once."

"Now I'm insulted. My lazy pride demands you never see them."

"We'll see, Louie. We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will always bring knitting Louie into these sorts of things. Always.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, Louie," Louie whispered to himself, as if he were some character in a cartoon and needed to make his thoughts known to his audience. "Time to make a choice."

Before him sat a quandary. A test of wills, per say. Louie knew full well that he was a stubborn duckling. It ran in the family. He knew he could win a battle of wills with an old codger. It wasn't particularly hard. How many years did Scrooge have left, anyway? Twenty? Thirty? He could outlive that, and outliving his Great Uncle would  _absolutely_  give him the last laugh.

The question was if he  _wanted_  to.

Louie's hands hovered enticingly over his knitting needles and purple yarn. "Just think of it, Louie. Being on the old man's  _good side_  for once. The  _prestige_. The  _respect_. The dollar signs on your portion of the will." His fingers shook a little. "But it's _knitting_. The only person who knows about my knitting is Uncle Donald. He's my supplier, for pete's sake." Louie bit his lip, considering. "Actually, Webby probably knows, now that I think about it. She's probably looked through our stuff. Wow, that should bother me  _way_  more than it does."

It's hard to say how long he would've sat there, ruminating, had there not been a knock on his door. Louie immediately jumped into action, tossing himself across the bed to stash the objects under his pillow. His voice was squeaky as he called out, "C-Come in!"

Huey peeked his head around the door. "Hey, Louie. How's your leg?"

"A lot better, actually." Louie wiggled it, bandage and all. "What's up?"

"Got some money for the jar," he answered, holding up a handful of dollar bills sheepishly.

Louie let out a whistle. "Well, well. We've got ourselves a Mr. Go-getter in our midsts."

Huey shrugged. "Found 'em on the ground."

" _Honestly_ , Hubert." He blew a puff of air out the side of his mouth. "Learn to take a compliment already."

Huey crawled up onto the bed while Louie slipped off the side, hobbling over to the closet. He tucked the cane under his arm and leaned on the wall while opening the door, retrieving a large plastic jar they'd secreted inside some time ago. Dollars and change filled it up part of the way; mostly the latter. "Alright, fill 'er up, bro."

The handful floated into the jar almost gracefully. They both watched as it happened, clinging onto quiet hopes and even quieter plans. There was a decent chance Webby had seen it by now. Heck, Scrooge probably had too. But they didn't know what it  _meant,_  or what it was  _for_ , and that was their little secret. Only the triplets needed that information. "You know, I really thought we'd at least be halfway by now."

"Hmm," Huey grunted. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, now that we've got a second-"

"Oh, boy," Louie said, with no enthusiasm. "I'd wondered when you were gonna lecture me."

"I'm the mom friend," Huey reminded him. "It's my job."

"Yeah, yeah." He stuck his tongue out. "Bleh."

The oldest triplet set a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't do anything that stupid again, okay?"

"It wasn't exactly like I planned it, you know."

"I know, and that's the problem." Huey smacked the side of his hand on the palm of the other. "You gotta think these things through, man! No amount of gold is worth risking a closed casket funeral."

Louie rolled his eyes. "It wasn't like I was exactly gunning for death, Hue. I thought it was safe. Honest."

"I don't trust you when you say 'honest'." Huey poked him in the chest. "But I know how you think, and you're wrong. We've still got plenty of time to fill the jar."

"Not enough time," he grunted. "And now we lost adventures all together. This isn't exactly a small setback, Huey."

"Are you saying you can't make that setback up? Where's that conman bravado now?"

Louie raised an eyebrow. "Are you condoning  _thievery_ , Huey?"

"I'm not condoning anything," he replied, smiling cryptically. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt like that again. Dig me?"

He saluted. "Aye, aye, Cap'n Worrywart."

Huey left with one last look of concern, and perhaps there was a bit of condoning in there too. Louie wasn't quite sure yet. He plucked his needles and yarn from under the pillow, setting them gently on the bedspread, and put his chin on his hands. "Being in his good books might be nice, but I don't got twenty years to wait. I mean, I  _do_ , but I also  _don't_. I'm pretty sure Uncle Scrooge doesn't like suck-ups anyway. So... is it a smart idea, or a bad move?" He stuck his tongue out in concentration. "Decisions, decisions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a branch chapter, but it helps smooth the plot along and introduce more of the Possible PlotTM, so I'm pleased with it. =)
> 
> -Mandaree1


	8. Chapter 8

"Harrumph."

"Did yew just say  _harrumph_?"

"Yes, yes, I did." Louie crawled up into his seat with a low grunt. "It's too early for work, man. It's  _your_  business; can't you, like, reschedule? Hey, LP."

"Mornin', Mr. McDee! Mornin', Louie!"

"Morning, McQuack." Scrooge took the other seat with a dry look, belting himself in without preamble. "The early bird catches the worm, Louie."

"You know what else he catches? _Exhaustion_."

"Seatbelt, lad."

"Aww, don't worry, little buddy." Launchpad turned around slightly to put an arm on the back of his seat and smile supportively as the duckling. "Once you find a job you enjoy, waking up early isn't so bad."

"What could _possibly_  be so great about driving an old man and his great nephew around?" Louie groused as he buckled in. "You're a _pilot_. You like to _fly_."

The duck leaned in a bit. "Well, between you and me, I get McDonald's on the way back, and that's pretty good. I have a soft spot for their hash browns."

Louie perked up. "Ooooooh, McDonalds!" He tugged on Scrooge's sleeve. "Can we go get some? Huh? Pleeeeease?"

Scrooge frowned. "What did I jus' say about the early bird?"

"The early bird gets the worm? Because, hey, a worm is technically nourishment, and so is McDonalds,  _soooo_..."

"Louie-"

The boy suddenly jolted back, holding the bird's wallet. "That's not a fast enough no!"

He jumped. "How did ye-"

"I watch YouTube how-to's!" Louie cheered, then chucked it up front before he could take it back. "To McDonald's!"

"McDonald's!" Launchpad pumped his fist, turning onto the main highway with more speed than was necessary. "You want anything, Mr. McDee?"

"Seein' how it's my wallet?" Scrooge snarked, sinking down in his seat. "Get me a coffee as black as me soul."

"That means  _a lot_  of creamer and sugar," Louie supplied.

* * *

It's not a rare occurrence for Launchpad to ram into another vehicle. Technically, it's the exact opposite. Usually, however, it's not a parked car, and usually it's not the car of Gyro Gearloose, who almost fell over as he scrambled out of the front seat, feathers puffed up with rage.

"Gyro!" Scrooge greeted, only mildly surprised. "I didnae know ye could park in this portion of the lot."

"You gave me V.I.P parking last month," Gyro gritted out. His face was turning an interesting shade of red. "Instead of a raise."

"Ah, yes," he replied, nodding. "That sounds like somethin' I'd do."

The inventor went around the front of the limo to shove his pointer finger in Launchpad's chest, yelling at him. "How  _dare_  you!? What if I'd been there, huh!? You could've killed me!"

The pilot leaned to the side to get a good look at the damage, brow furrowed. "In... the trunk?"

"I could've been killed!" he repeated, shaking.

"Sorry, sir." Launchpad gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I'll write ya' an apology note immediately."

Gyro jabbed him again. "A note? That's it?" he cried. "You- you bumbling oaf!"

Louie tugged on the pilot's arm. "Hey, LP? Can I have change for a soda?"

"Sure, buddy." Launchpad dug into his pockets distractedly, pulling out a five. "Get me something too. Cherry, if they have it."

"Don't ignore me!"

"Thanks, Launchpad." Louie sent him some finger guns before quickly gimping out of the room.

Scrooge gently grabbed Gyro's wrist, wary of angering him further. He _really_  didn't want to deal with any robots rampaging today. "I'll pay ye back. I'm kind of obligated ta'. Laws and all."

Gyro turned to him. "Honestly, Mr. McDuck. I don't know why you keep him around. He costs more than he's worth."

"That's not yer decision," he replied firmly. "Nor is it any'a yer business, Gearloose."

The inventor opened his beak, but before any words could come out there was a hissing sound, and Gyro was covered in sticky soda spray. Louie held the shaken can, eyebrow raised. He pulled a cherry soda out of his hoodie. "Here you go, Launchpad."

"Hey!" Gyro spluttered. "What do you-"

Louie pointed the half-empty can at him, and he shrunk back. "He already said sorry, you jerk. Lay off."

For a moment, Gyro looked tempted to argue, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth a second soaking, whirling around and stomping away, calling over his shoulder, "My dry-cleaning is gonna come out of your allowance, brat!"

"I have an allowance?" Louie asked rhetorically.

"Louie!" Launchpad yelped, getting on one knee and putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You wasted a soda for me! But you  _love_  soda!"

"I didn't  _waste_  anything. That was hilarious."

"Awwww!" He pulled him in for a hug. "I love you too, little buddy!"

Louie let out a choked noise and patted him on the back. "What can I say?" he replied, voice slightly high-pitched. "I take care of my peeps."

He missed the proud smile on Scrooge's face, but just barely. He hid it behind a cough.

* * *

"Ye did good, lad."

"Hmm?"

"Protectin' Launchpad like that." He poked the boy in the belly with his cane. "Right noble of ya'."

"Oh. That." Louie shrugged. "Meh. Gyro deserved it. He was just asking for pity points; hoping to squeeze a few extra dollars out of Launchpad. It was really in bad taste."

"Ye sayin' ye wouldn't do it?"

"I never said  _that_. I just wouldn't do it to a guy like Launchpad."

"Oh." Scrooge sounded disappointed. "I was hopin' to reward ye with a soda, but clearly ye've learned nothin'."

"Not true." Louie pulled a handful of dollars out of his pocket with a sly smile. "I've learned I'm a pretty good pickpocket."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who Louie stole the cash from is up to you. =) Honestly, I find the new Gyro hilarious, but I never watched the original Ducktales, so I never had any attachments to the old one.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	9. Chapter 9

Louie glanced up from his knitting needles long enough to glare. "Stop looking so smug, you jerk. It _just so happens_  that I've got a birthday coming up, and this is  _way_  easier than actually buying something."

"A birthday?" Scrooge mused, smiling.

"Yup. A birthday."

" _I_  don't know anyone havin' a birthday anytime soon."

"And  _you're_  a crusty old man who doesn't have friends." Louie went back to it with vigor, tongue sticking out. "I'm not any of those things."

To his surprise, Scrooge let out a belly laugh. Louie stopped mid-knit to watch him from out of the corner of his eye. Scrooge slipped out of his comfy office chair and around the front of his desk, eventually coming to stand in front of the boy and his not-so-comfy metal chair, his elbows propped up on the table they'd played cards on. "Getting yer bandage off tomorrow, ey?"

"Seems like it."

"Yer glad ta' be rid of me and my stern old man ways, I'm sure."

"I'm certainly glad to be done with this evil institution- street name: work- that's for sure." Louie eyed him shrewdly. "That whole 'a lesson a day' bit didn't really stick, huh?"

"I dunno 'bout that. I'd like ta' think ye learned plenty." Scrooge twisted his cane back and forth. "And I've learned some things as well."

"Have you?" He set his knitting needles down and put his chin on his hands. "Is it  _super emotional feeling time,_  Uncle Scrooge?"

"In a matter of speakin'," he said. "I'm not a duck who enjoys most cliches, but I  _do_  like how this'un has worked out. You 'n me- we're a pretty odd duo. But we've made it work, and no one is worse fer wear. Yer a good lad, Louie. A mite bit paranoid, but a good lad."

"It's called anxiety, Scroogey, and I'll have you know it's more common in this household than you might like to think."

Scrooge nodded to show he'd heard. "Ye've got a good head on yer shoulders. Yer smart. Yew watch out fer the little guy."

"Launchpad is a lot of things, but he isn't  _little_."

"Aye, but he  _is_  a skosh bit gullible."

"I won't deny that."

"Yer mother would be proud," Scrooge finished warmly, smiling. It dropped off his face like a ripped hot air balloon falling out of the sky. "Did yew jus'  _roll yer eyes_?"

Louie's eyes snapped to his. His face was perfectly blank. "Nope. I just took my time looking at the ceiling and walls."

He took a step closer. "Was it... Della?" Scrooge let out a long sigh, crouching down on one knee with a pained grunt. "I know... I don't talk 'bout her very often. No one does. And I'm sure yew've got questions."

The boy's eyes slid closed. "Nope. Don't care."

Scrooge reached a hand out to touch his cheek. "Lad, ya' don't need ta' lie-"

Louie slapped him away before he could make contact. "I'm  _not_  lying. I don't care."

"Ye don't?"

"No."

He looked shocked. "Why not? Laddie, she was yer-"

"My mom." Louie wrinkled his beak. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for the reminder."

Baffled, Scrooge got back to his feet, leaning just a little on his cane. His knees weren't what they used to be. "She was the greatest pilot I ever knew, Louie. A great woman. Took after me quite a bit. I think she'd appreciate yer sense of humor."

The youngest triplet stared him down, eyes steady and unwavering. "Look. I get it. People like painting pretty little pictures of the people who leave. But I'm more of a glass half empty kind of guy, myself. Never did anything for me."

"Louie, yer talkin' nonsense."

"I'm not, really." Louie touched the yarn with one of his hands, as if soothing himself with it. "She was a good pilot? Cool. She took after you? Alrighty. That doesn't magically make her ditching us on Uncle Donald's doorstep any better."

"She didn't-"

"She kinda did."

Scrooge smacked the cane on the floor. Just one little tap. His face had turned an ugly shade of red. "Get outta me office."

Louie jumped, startled. "But-"

"Out." He thrust his finger toward the door. "If you cannae have any respect fer my kin, you cannae have any respect fer me. Get outta me sight."

He slammed his hands on the tiny table, almost sending it to the floor as he stood. "You can't force me to like a woman who abandoned us! If you want hero-worship, go to Dewey. He can't seem to get enough of her!" Louie grimaced at the thought. "But I'm not him. I'm  _me_."

Scrooge pointed more harshly. "I said OUT!"

"Fine!"

He grabbed the cane he didn't really need anymore and left without even a goodbye, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately after Louie began to feel sick, but he didn't turn back, reminding himself time and time again that he'd meant every word he said, no matter how much he felt antsy. It was just his mind hurting him.

Louie sat in the waiting room until it was time to leave, knees to his chest. He didn't cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety is a serious pain, ya'll. Even when you do something you know is good/necessary, your mind tries to pick you apart for it.
> 
> I highkey headcanon Louie is extremely salty and bitter about Della, since he's so into making sure no one cons his family but him, and he'd see Della leaving the as her 'conning' Donald, since she said one thing and did another. That said, I'm thinking there's only like three chapters left on this 'fic!
> 
> -Mandaree1


	10. Chapter 10

Donald takes him to the doctor, and the doctor pronounces his leg all better; which, honestly, Louie could've told him. Donald acts like he's just been told he's gonna live after a cancer scare, pulling him to his chest and blubbering into his feathers. Louie struggles a bit, mostly just for show, then relaxes, pressing his beak to his sailor suit, smelling the salty sea air. It's not half bad.

"You know, I'm thinking of keeping the cane." Louie tapped it along the ground all the way to the car. "It makes me look dapper."

Donald chuckled. "You look like Scrooge."

He whipped the back door open, chucking it inside with a sour look. He climbed into the front and belted up, crossing his arms. "Whelp, never mind all that."

They pull out and hit a red light a block later. Donald sighed and tapped the top of the steering wheel.

"Louie," he prompted. "Did you and Scrooge have a fight?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you look ready to burn your cane."

"I mean, I can't deny that." Louie slid down in his seat. "He's mad at me because I don't care about mom."

Uncle Donald winced. "Oh. That."

He groaned. "Not you, too."

"I'm not  _mad_." He reached over to ruffle his feathers fondly. "I just... wish you'd give her a chance."

"Hmm," Louie said. "I wish she'd be a decent mom and not have left us without even a goodbye, but we can't always get what we want."

Donald sighed, scowling, and Louie hated how much his mean words to mom hurt him. But Louie had tried to apologize before, and that had only made it worse. Uncle Donald hated pity more than most anything else, and no matter how much he could try to convince him otherwise, that's how he always saw it.

* * *

"Huey? Dewey?" Louie called as he moseyed his way into the mansion, hands in his pockets. "Man, it's been so long since I've experienced the joys of no work. I don't even know where all the other not-working people hang out anymore. What tomfoolery have I missed? How many things has Dewey gotten himself stuck in? What new drama show has Huey sewn his heart and soul into, only to realize it was canceled three seasons in? How many new ways has Webby learned to kill an adult? I need answers, people."

"Speaking of answers; I got a question," a voice said wryly, almost making Louie fall flat on his face. "Why're you talking to yourself?"

Louie looked up to find Lena looked down at him from the top of the main stairwell, her back leaned against the railing. "Oh. Hey, Lena."

"Sup."

"I'm a newly freed man, I'll have you know," he said as he climbed the steps to meet her. "I've yet to tether myself to this new reality. Why're you here, anyway?"

"I'm having a tea party with Webby. Duh."

"And you're out here... why?"

Lena shrugged. "I can't find the bathroom."

"We have more than one of those."

"Is that so? They seem to be hiding from me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure you can't use those supposed 'magic powers' of yours to locate one?"

The girl snorted, shoving his shoulder. "And risk setting off all the sigils and junk that old man has around the place? No thanks."

Louie paused, glancing around for anyone incoming. He wasn't sure how long Lena had been gone from Webby's tea party, but it was safe to assume she would soon come looking for her. He had to make this quick.

"Oooh, I know that look. That's the 'I want to talk about business' look."

"I don't do business anymore, actually. I got out of that evil work junk."

"What a survivor." Lena whistled as she she propped herself up on the railing. "Alright, celery stick, spill it."

"You know how you said I was planning trouble?"

"When I read your mind? Sure."

"You didn't read  _anything_. It's like Huey said: I've _always_  got trouble planned." Louie bent his head in. "How serious were you about being up for it?"

"Dude," Lena said. "I joke about many things. I joke about magic. I joke about my apparent lack of parental guardianship. I even joke about the clear warning signs I've displayed pertaining to depression. But I don't joke about  _trouble_."

"What about trouble that's..." He searched for the right word. "Dangerous?"

"Dangerous as in deadly?"

"Dangerous as in illegal."

"Well, shoot. Laws haven't stopped me from having fun before. I don't see why they should now." Lena held up a finger. "I demand fifty-fifty of whatever trouble we're starting, be it graffiti to money."

"It's money. A  _lot_  of money. And I'm only willing to give forty-sixty."

"So help me Louis is you skimp me on cash I _will_  dye your feathers neon green and leave you to the cops."

"Okay, okay!" He raised his hands for peace. "Fifty-fifty. Just... don't do any of those things."

"Deal."

They shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter'll have a lot more meat to it, I believe. =)
> 
> -Mandaree1


	11. Chapter 11

"So, why d'ya need a ride to the bin, anyway?"

"I forgot my sewing kit," Louie said, and he wasn't lying. He'd left it in the office, too busy being angry at Scrooge to even consider going back for it.

"I'm going to steal everything in sight," Lena said lowly, shifting her duffel bag to her other shoulder. "And sell it for personal profit."

Launchpad let out a long, awkward laugh. "You, uh, you've got quite the sense of humor there, kiddo. You're definitely a friend of Webby's."

Louie clutched at his chest, having narrowly avoided having a heart attack. He glared at the teen, who smiled back at him. Deep down, he wished he could just spill out an entire plan like that and not have to face the consequences. (Then again, considering she had a running joke about being magical, it was possible no one really believed a word she said out of principle.)

He asked him to drop them off just outside, because Launchpad is a tremendously nice guy, and Louie really doesn't want him in on this sort of thing. Lena is one thing- Lena is just as much a criminal as he is, just in a different way. She may not con, but she certainly almost never told the truth, and she knew how to get her way on any occasion she deemed fit. Launchpad isn't like that.

"How do you propose we get past the front desk?" she asked as the limosine pulled away, handing him the spare duffel bag. "We aren't invisible."

He smiled. "Oh, don't you worry. Louie has his ways."

Whoever said confidence was the key to success- well, they weren't wrong. Louie didn't know their name off the top of his head, but clearly they were confident enough to make that saying global, and that saying was certainly on the nose. All he had to do was breeze by, tell Melody her blush was popping, and they were in. Lena watched it from the corner of her eye, digesting.

"Is it always this easy?"

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "Being a McDuck has perks."

Lena frowned and didn't answer.

They crossed into the elevator, and Louie, feeling impulsive, hit a button at random. "Alright, here's the plan. We grab anything that looks good but is out of the way. We shove what we can get into the bag, walk home, wait for any heat to die down, then sell it for big bucks."

"You know there's money in this building, right?"

Louie snorted. "We don't stand a chance. Scrooge isn't an idiot. But even  _he_  won't notice if a random bit of art from a random bathroom on a random floor goes missing."

"You have a point," Lena admitted. "Let's do it quick, alright? All this high-brow nonsense is giving me hives."

* * *

They stuff a small bag with small but expensive-looking art, a nice vase, a pencil holder, and Louie even spots Lena sticking some of those tiny road soap things into the pockets. Louie's bag is full of notebooks and homework, to give off the effect of the stuffing being a normal occurrence between them. Lena had argued that they should use both bags, but he's soon proven right when they turn the corner to the front entrance and almost run beak-first into Scrooge.

"Oh," the boy said, then swallowed and forced himself to seem decently excited. "Oh! H-Hey, Uncle Scrooge. I was just looking for you!"

Scrooge turned, took one look at their bags, and frowned. "What did ye do?"

"What? Do? I didn't  _do_  anything, see?" Louie unzipped his, showing off the schoolwork. "I just thought I'd catch up on my work on the way here, and Lena was nice enough to help me."

"Lena?" The name rolled off the duck's tongue as he looked up, catching sight of the teen. His frown deepened. "Yew must be the lass Beakley told me 'bout."

Lena sent him a finger gun. "Just so you know, any and all stories she told you about me are probably  _not_ exaggerated."

Scrooge didn't seem pleased by her attitude. Then again, most people didn't seem to like Lena at first, Louie included. She's an acquired taste. "What're yew two doin' here?"

She reached out to shove his shoulder. "Louie left his sewing kit or whatever."

His eyebrows rose suspiciously. "Yer nowhere near me office, laddie."

"I didn't feel comfortable going by myself," Louie said quickly. "I mean, it's  _your_  office and all."

That seemed to strike a nerve with Scrooge, who immediately put a hand on his shoulder. (He realized, belatedly, that the old man might've taken his words as an admission of being on the verge of an attack. And, honestly? He wasn't that far off.) "I'll walk with ye, laddie." He sent a pointed glance to Lena. "Yew can go."

She saluted. "Aye, aye, old man."

Scrooge let out a disapproving sound as they watched her walk away, muttering under his breath. "I don't like that'un. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't."

"Who, Lena?" Louie shrugged. "She's a lot, but she's basically harmless."

He sniffed and led him back to the elevator. Melody sent him a thumbs up, which he returned for the sake of appearing semi-functional, when deep down he was a wreck on webbed feet, and deeply grateful for his own forethought. Louie didn't even want to imagine how Scrooge would react if he'd opened Lena's bag. The older duck hit the button for his floor and settled back on his cane, staring straight ahead.

"Louie," he said.

"Scrooge," Louie said.

He glanced at his youngest nephew, then went right back to the silver elevator doors. "I can be a bit... stubborn."

"Really? You don't say."

Scrooge pretended not to hear him. "I like ta' think I'm right all the time, and that I know best, jus' 'cause I'm old as sin. But sometimes I'm not. Granted, those times are few and far between, but they  _do_  occur."

Louie sighed, rubbing the bridge of his beak. "Alright, I'll bite. Why are you lecturing me on your emotional flaws? They're not exactly subtle, Scrooge."

"I shouldnae acted the way I did," he blurted out, surprising him. "How ye feel about Della is yer own business. I... I can understand where those feelings of yers came from."

"Oh. Right. That."

"That?"

"I kinda... forgot?"

Scrooge stared at him, letting the realization that he'd apologized for nothing sink in. "Yew _forgot_?"

Louie winced and nodded. "I got super caught-up in getting my knitting," he admitted sheepishly. "I, uh... I really like to do it."

"Yer so passionate about it," Scrooge commented, eyebrows raised. "Why're yew so determined to hide it from everyone?"

"Because life is a con, Scrooge," he repeated blandly, thinking of Lena, who was hopefully far, far away by now. "And I intend to ace the con."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left, ya'll! Things'll wrap up properly next time, with feels, hugs, and money jar explanations. =)
> 
> -Mandaree1


	12. Chapter 12

Lena passed Louie a handful of bills, leaning on the frame of the back door to the mansion. "You're lucky I keep my word, you rotten piece of celery. I was sooo tempted to just keep it all for myself."

"If you'd done that, I would've told Webby, and we both know you don't want that."

"Touché." She reached out to ruffle his top feathers. "Keep it real, dork, and I'll see you the next time you need a quick fix."

By the time Louie put the money into his hoodie pocket, she was gone. Out of curiosity, the duckling went out onto the back porch, but Lena was well and truly gone, leaving nary a feather nor fingerprint behind. He wondered, not for the first time, where she lived, but it wasn't his business. If Lena liked to play the part of the mysterious rebel, then he didn't see why they shouldn't indulge her. After all, she let him play the con mastermind in all of this, when really he's an eleven year old who just-so-happens to be good at lying.

Louie, tallying the bills from their texture alone, is too lost in thought to notice his guest. Not until he's closed the door and turned around, only to almost slam into a red jacket. The color drained from his face.

Scrooge doesn't look surprised. He doesn't even look disappointed. He's got his arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised. "So, this is what yew were doin', huh?"

"Uncle Scrooge!" Louie threw his hands up like he was holding a gun rather than a judging stare. "You see, Lena and I-"

"Stole from me," he snapped. "Stomped on me trust. And then, ye little brats had the gall to make the final exchange on me own property, as if I wouldn't notice ye missin'."

Louie swallowed. He tried to come up with a lie, but came up empty. One might think this would be his niche- angry old man, money is his pocket, an excuse on his tongue- but it never has been. He's never been good at working under pressure. He finally settled on something that was a mix of anxiety, a lame attempt at humor, and a very real possibility: "You gonna call the cops on me, Scroogey?"

Scrooge scoffed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the stairs. Louie struggled, but it was cast-iron. "Yer room. Now."

"Are you gonna spank me or something?" he pressed. "Because I'mma need some heads-up if that's where this is going. Uncle Donald never spanked us, so it's not anything I'm accustomed to."

He didn't respond. Louie focused on keeping his breathing under control, letting the old duck yank him around like putty. He refused to cry in front of Scrooge. Not about this. He knew the risks, and he got caught. End of story.

(He was totally gonna cry into his pillow later, though. Louie's never handled disappointment well.)

Scrooge opened the door to his room and shoved him inside, closing it behind him. He held out a hand insistently. "Money. Now."

He sighed and handed it over. "Aye, aye, Captain Killjoy."

"I thought we were past this, Louie."

"Past what? Me being me?" The duckling cocked an eyebrow. "I'll never be a perfect angel, Scrooge. If you're looking for that, I suggest Huey. He's pretty dang close."

"I  _meant_  yer defensiveness, but that too." Scrooge was too busy counting the bills to look up. "That lassie sold 'em cheap. Coulda gotten way more."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time I attempt larceny," he replied wryly. It was easier to joke than it was to talk truthfully; and, truth be told (pun quite intended) Louie really didn't think it a grand idea to tell the duck he stole from his reasons. "So, am I grounded or not?"

"Dunno." He pocketed the cash. "That'll be up to yer Uncle."

To both their surprise, Louie shot forward, grabbing his hand. He felt like he'd swallowed sand. "You  _can't_  tell Uncle Donald."

"Ye really think I'll just let this slide?" Scrooge demanded. "Laddie, this isn't yer usual shtick. This could get ye arrested. Discipline is kinda mandatory."

"This isn't about  _discipline_ ," he hissed. Louie felt his eyes getting wet and quickly directed his gaze to the floor. If he started bawling, there was a good chance Scrooge would just take it as him trying to pity his way out of it. "Look. Just ground me, okay? Or spank me, or hit me with a stick- whatever old-timey punishment you subscribe to. Just... don't tell Uncle Donald, okay? You  _can't_." Louie squeezed his fingers, then let go. His voice was getting thick. "You just can't."

Scrooge touched his shoulder with his index and middle fingers. He sounded surprisingly gentle. "What was this all about, Louie?"

He sniffed. "Nothing."

"Don't gimme that, wee barra." He led him over to the bed, perching on the edge and patting for him to hop up. "Talk ta' me."

"You got understanding all of a sudden," Louie said, hoping to make him mad. Mad was better than pity any day.

"I'm workin' on it."

Louie let out a displeased groan and shuffled over to the closet, reluctantly pulling the jar out from behind some old clothes he never wore. He set it on the bed with care, face so red you would've thought he was showing off his most prized possession. "I gotta fill this to the top."

"What's it fer?"

"It's a fund."

"That's not descriptive, lad."

Louie sighed and mumbled it into his hoodie. "It's for Uncle Donald, okay? We're gonna fix the boat. Or get him a new boat. Whichever."

Scrooge's eyebrows raised. He tilted the plastic jar toward him, studying the meager contents within. "There's no rush, Louie. My house is open fer as long as ya need."

"I know. That's the problem."

Time ticks on, unaware.

Scrooge sighed and pushed the jar out of the way, pulling Louie to his side for a hug. "He's not gonna leave yew- yew know that, right?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Louie buried his beak in his coat. He smelled like paper and old man. "This place has everything. He'd never have to worry about us again. The longer we're here, the more likely it is he's gonna give up."

"Donald doesn't know  _how_  ta' give up."

"When it comes to us, you'd be surprised."

Scrooge's lips quirk downwards. "Is that why ye were so reckless?"

Louie didn't answer.

"Gettin' injured fer yer Uncle would only break his heart. Yew know  _that_ , right?"

"Why d'ya think I didn't tell him?" he asked wearily. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Life is a con. You gotta fake it 'till you make it."

"Is that all yer Uncle is to you? A con?"

"Don't even joke about that."

He slowly shook his head. "Yer philosophy is flawed, Louie. Self-defeating, too."

Louie rolled his eyes. "Then it's a good thing I didn't ask for your opinion, huh?"

"Louie," Scrooge warned, but didn't seem nearly as angry as he had before. His arm was firmly wrapped around him. "Tell ye what. I'll take the money ye got from stealin' my stuff, and we'll call it even."

He perked up. "Really?"

"On one condition."

Louie let out a sigh of disgust. "Of  _course_  it's not that easy."

Scrooge poked his side. "No more hidin' the knitting you do."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Why are you so hung up on my knitting?"

"I'm hopin' it'll be the first step to gettin' yew to realize that life is about more than tricking yer way through."

Louie's eyes glimmered at the unspoken challenge. "Alright. You're wrong, but I'll do it. Maybe you'll start seeing things my way once everything goes horribly wrong."

"We'll see who's wrong." Scrooge slipped off the edge of the bed with a smirk. "It'll be yew, of course, but we'll see."

Louie stuck his tongue out at him. Scrooge laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot! Next chapter is the epilogue!
> 
> -Mandaree1


	13. Chapter 13

"This show is stupid," Scrooge grunted, but made no attempt to grab the remote and change it. "Johnny and Randy have no character whatsoever."

Louie didn't look up from his knitting, enjoying the familiar clack-clack sound and the bright pink of his yarn. "It's not about Johnny and Randy, Scrooge. It's about the stories of the _ottomans._ " He rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows that."

He crossed his arms. "Still stupid."

"Eh, give it a season or two. It grows on you."

Scrooge twisted his head to inspect the young duckling, smiling in spite of himself. "Ye know, lad-"

" _Ugh_. That's how old people start their super long and boring stories."

"No stories today," he promised, still smiling. "Ye remind me of meself, is all."

Louie stopped knitting to squint at him. "Do you have a fever or something?"

"Hmmm..." He touched the top of head. "Nope."

"Look, I respect that you're trying to practice your lying- or whatever it is you're trying to do here- but you gotta be more believable than  _that_ , man."

"S'not a lie," Scrooge insisted with a laugh. "At yer age, I was all about work. And, in a way, so are yew. It's a different kind of work, is all."

"One: work is evil. No exceptions. Two: that is the worst thing I've heard all month." Louie gagged. "I want to be as rich as you, Scrooge. I don't want to  _be_  you."

"Oh, trust me," he said wryly. "Yer not me. Not by a long shot."

"Thank  _duck_."

Their quiet time was intruded upon by a loud laugh as Dewey came into the room, Huey and Webby close behind, the middle triplet's eyes wide and incredulous. "Did you actually talk him into watching Ottoman Empire with you?"

"Actually," Louie said mildly, "he's holding the remote hostage."

Webby came around the couch, pointing curiously. "Oh, so you're finally doing that publicly, huh?"

"Somehow, I'm not the least bit surprised you already knew."

"You knit?" Dewey demanded. His tone of voice made Louie tense, awaiting scorn, but he simply poked at the yarn. "Think you can fix that hole in my shirt?"

"Sewing and knitting aren't the same," he sniffed. "Like, at all."

"That's a shame," Webby commented, crawling up beside him. "If you could sew, you could sew wounds together! It's like sewing with fabric, only the fabric is skin... sorta?"

"I'm gonna hurl."

"Same," Huey added, grimacing.

* * *

"Hiya, boys!" Donald greeted, reaching over the back of the couch to hug the triplets. "Just came in for dinner. Mrs. B makes a mean casserole."

"Hi, Mr. Duck," Webby said over the boy's joking cries of displeasure.

"Oh, my bad." He pulled Webby in too. "Hiya, boys and new daughter! There. Got everybody now." Donald glanced at the TV. "Still hooked on that ottoman show, eh, Louie?"

Louie raised his hands. "It was Uncle Scrooge's idea, not mine."

Donald glanced pointedly at the old duck, who was snoring quite loudly. "It was  _Scrooge's_  idea, huh?"

Huey shrugged sheepishly. "He wasn't sleeping when we came in."

"I think we bored him to sleep," Dewey added. "Which, to be fair, I just woke up from a nap myself. I don't do long marathons of crappy shows well."

Unnoticed by the others, Louie gently slipped the half-knit garishly pink mess onto the old man's chest as a makeshift blanket, smiling just a little. If it unraveled, that was fine by him. He could always add dollar signs next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey, I had a bunch of fun with this!
> 
> For once, there wasn't any major plot revisions, which is odd for a multi-chapter 'fic of mine. I DID originally intend for Lena to ditch Louie to the wolves, so to speak, but that didn't really fit her current character. Not to mention it would put a strain on her friendship with Webby. There also was gonna be a thing where Louie tried to break into the vault (and, when the alarms went off, that'd be when Lena dumped him), but that didn't fit with the overall feel of the 'fic.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> -Mandaree1

**Author's Note:**

> I won't lie, ya'll, I just really want to write some Louie-Scrooge bonding, so here's the setup that allows for that to happen. =)
> 
> -Mandaree1


End file.
